Protect and Survive
by eveaphee
Summary: Nuclear war has hit, but the horror for Hiccup has only just begun. AU, Hiccup/Astrid.
1. Prologue

**Okay so this is the first time i've submitted a story onto this site, and I got the idea because i'm a bit of a cold war history nut at the moment and the threat of nuclear war is something that both disturbs and fascinates me. I'm also a How To Train Your Dragon nut...**

Dad,

You always used to tell me a story about how I got my nickname. You told me about how we all went out to watch a pantomime one Christmas together; I remember mum loved the theatre, the excitement and warmth of it all. I had gotten far too excited and warm, and I had hiccups all the way through the production, to the point where the has-been soap actor who was throwing sweets at the children took notice. "Feelin' alright there, Hiccup?" he had beamed, and I gave him a shy, crooked smile, a little surprised and forlorn over the attention I was getting. I remember you burying your head in your hands, embarrassed, but mum giggled hysterically, swooning over the man on the stage and smiling affectionately at the scruffy scrap of a son I was. That was the best Christmas; we were the textbook family, unwrapping presents by the tree and sharing selection boxes and mince pies. You had stashed crates of beer in our pantry, and throughout the course of the day I remember you getting more and more merry, eventually picking me up, laughing excitedly and swinging me round, our living room with our garishly decorated tree and suede sofa blurring into one and feeling as though I was flying through the sky.

I fell asleep on the sofa in your arms, the soft dragon mum had made me held against my chest, and a new name for myself.

I was that excitable kid at school, always getting into trouble, and it drove you mad. I wasn't into sports or athletics like you were, but I had my own niche; I liked to make things, and I was the kid that designed all of the sets in the school musicals and all of the displays for the parent evenings. You and mum bickered more and more the older I got, but you held it together when it was appropriate, and Christmas was always magic. Even when mum told me she was ill, she kept a smile, like nothing was ever going to change. But I never stopped noticing how sick she was in the mornings, and i'd wake up in the night as she was vomiting, holding myself close to the blankets and blocking everything out.

Then one morning I woke up and came downstairs as usual, but mum wasn't there. There was just you sitting at the table, looking straight ahead. It took you a few seconds to acknowledge my existence, but when you did, you shot me a weak smile and a weary expression. You told me how mum had gotten very sick and had to be taken to hospital, and I had taken to the news as solemnly as I was stirring the bowl of cereal before me, not wanting to eat in case I would catch what she had too. I realize she didn't have something that could be "caught", but a child's understanding of illness only goes so far; a child understands that someone would go to the hospital and the doctors and nurses would make them better, and that that was the end.

You told me to go to school, to keep things as normal as possible. We had art and design that day so I modeled something for her, as a get-well present. I was going to make the most magnificent, beautiful dragon, like the one I had but brought more to life. I was careful with how finely i'd carved the body, engraving at it's wings, horns and tails and finally painting it shimmering blue, with fierce green eyes. I stayed behind during break to finish it, Mrs Robbins eyeing me curiously; it was unusual for me to pay attention to something for such an extended period of time. She let me rest the dragon on her desk for the day so it would dry, and when the bell rang she put in one of those old shoe-boxes we used to send away for charity. You were outside waiting, and you were probably bemused at my high spirits. We drove to the hospital in silence, and my good mood was shattered the minute we had stepped inside. Cold, clinical, and dismissive, and all I wanted was mum. You held my hand as we stood in the empty lift, and the journey up seemed to be endless, as though we were going to escape into the roof.

I remember seeing mum in her bed, but I only just noticed how sick she really seemed, pale and malnourished and hooked up to machines. But she smiled. "Alright there Hiccup?" she whispered, but her voice sounded unfamiliar and broken. I cautiously handed her the shoe-box, helping her open the lid and watching her reaction as she eyed up the dragon I had worked so hard to make. She seemed to analyse it forever, staring intently as if it was going to leap up and start projecting flames, before looking up and beaming. "It's beautiful...thank you so much."

We went to leave after some time because you were hungry, and I gave one last hug. She told me she loved me, and that she was proud of her talented little boy. And that was the last time I ever saw her.

You left me with Old Wrinkly for five weeks, a particularly harsh thing for a nine-year-old to deal with. Things were never the same, even after you finally took me home. The house was dull, empty, silent. There was no laughter like there had been before. Christmas and birthdays came and went with little acknowledgement; it hurt too much because mum wasn't there. In my mind I was to blame. But you never seemed surprised when I started skipping classes and getting into the wrong crowd of friends, and never concerned when I came home in the early hours of the morning, spending long hours in the woods around Berk contemplating the pointlessness of our dismal existence. Sometimes I wanted this bloody war to happen that everyone kept banging on about. I'd listen to your speculation and worried debates to your friends down the phone each night, over how someone will drop the bomb.

War, in my warped mind, seemed exciting. It sorted the winners from the losers, the survivors from the failures. I didn't think i'd ever had to find out.

I did stumble upon your thoughts, and the letters you had written for me. It seemed strange, with so much compassion on paper and yet so little in action. It was nice, I suppose, to know that you too longed for the days of innocence, the Christmases by the fire with laughter and happiness. Somewhere in my stubborn brain I knew you loved me. Some part of me thinks that this bomb was somebody's doing. Perhaps it was fate.

I am in our house which doesn't resemble a home anymore. The curtains are on fire, the glass has shattered through, and everywhere is eerily silent apart from the cackling of flames. The suede sofa is completely ruined; mum would be furious.

If you ever find this, understand that I may still not be here. The blast has injured me, and I am losing far too much blood to survive much longer. And that's even before the effect of the radiation.

Just know that I love you, and that I tried to be the best son I could.

Hiccup.


	2. An Axe To Grind

**Hey! Thank you for the reviews I got, they're very much appreciated. :)**

**And i'm sorry for throwing everyone out there aha, that first chapter serves only as a prologue without much context. I'm not really sure whether putting loads of context into the authors notes is necessary but I will say this; they are in a bunker under Berk. **

**I've planned where I am going with this and how it will end but i'm open to suggestions and criticisms so feel free to comment. I've noticed that the spellchecker on my word processor and the spellchecker on the document editor do not seem to get along (i.e. British English vs American English) and grammar is a bugbear so i'll be especially happy if you find any mistakes there so I can sort them. I feel as though the characters, especially Hiccup, are a bit out of character, although to be honest they are being put through a wringer of sorts. I also may find myself upping the rating because well...it might get graphic. Perhaps.**

**Aha, oh well.**

June 29th 2018. 180 days after attack.

Hiccup Haddock awoke from his reverie, his mind taking a few moments to adjust to his surroundings. He sighed in relief of the familiarity of the whitewash walls and tiled ceiling that was mere inches from his head, before feeling the overwhelming state of exhaustion that haunted him at the time he should be feeling refreshed and lively. Pulling the sheets away, he peered over the stump that was once his ankle, and reached across the end of the bed to fix his prosthetic. Hiccup thought back to when he had first lost his foot, and how attaching this plastic, fake, empty limb was a tedious and difficult task, tiring him out before the day had begun. Over the past few months, however, he had gotten used to the bother it had given him and had become quite adept with it, even making a few metallic adjustments of his own with the metal he often stole from the blacksmiths supplies.

Hiccup's few possessions sat in a duffel bag next to where the prosthetic once was, and as he opened it to gather his uniform, his hand brushed against a soft, haphazard toy dragon that lay at the bottom, a single reminder that he had a life and a family once. He sighed and shook his head, allowing the memories to get to him and then escape like water running through cupped fingers. There was no time to contemplate what-ifs and what-haves. He pulled on the battered combat trousers and oversized t-shirt that exaggerated his emancipated frame and jumped from the top bunk where he slept, stuttering a little as his prosthetic threatened to give way. His room-mate, Alex Ingerman, known as Fishlegs for his clumsiness, was still snoring away, and Hiccup wondered whether it was the right time to be awake at all.

He took a glance at the clock across the cramped room; 6.14. Breakfast was in less than 15 minutes but hunger was not something that was occupying Hiccup's mind right now. He realized that they were now into the end of June and this year, he wouldn't be able to sit out in the sun like he'd done before. There was something disconcerting about living in darkness, the only light being artificial and impure. Fishlegs stirred, almost purring happily, something that annoyed Hiccup somewhat. He missed being happy. He missed being cared for.

"Hey Fish, it's nearly half-six", and Fishlegs stirred awake as if on cue. Hiccup didn't even attempt to disguise the annoyance in his voice, although he knew it wasn't fair to take it out on Fishlegs. He was always that kid at school who got the stick for being an overweight dork, and Hiccup found him infuriating right up until he actually got to know him. It had been Fishlegs who had sat by his bedside, holding a damp cloth to his head as he shook in fever from radiation sickness and the infection in his leg, inches from death. Hiccup's survival had been a miracle, and yet he couldn't quite understand whether he wanted to survive at all.

Fishlegs understood the implications of half-six. He shot up from his bed and gave his friend a smile, which Hiccup returned weakly.

"Hey Hiccup, are you coming to the mess hall tonight? Sindri's throwing a party", Fishlegs asked eagerly as he fumbled to get changed, giving his friend a look to suggest that he could do with the companionship. Hiccup, however, wasn't really a party person.

"I don't know. Uh, maybe", Hiccup replied, kneeling down to tie up his heavy, steel-capped boots. Fishlegs gave a exhalation of disappointment and looked away from his friend, focused on combing his blond hair away from his eyes.

"You know Hiccup, being cooped up in here every night can't be much fun", Fishlegs muttered almost inaudibly, as he also tied up his shoes. Hiccup decided that he was right; being left to his own thoughts in a tiny, cramped, subterranean bedroom wasn't a recipe for success. But then again, he didn't really feel up for a party with the jaunty community of Berk, or what was left of it. He didn't trust Sindri; Hiccup knew that there was only a matter of time before resources were going to run out and they'd have to go out onto the wasteland that remained above them in search of more. He knew such an action would be suicide. Of course Sindri was maintaining hope and peace amongst the people, but Hiccup knew also that he wasn't being truthful either.

The two boys grabbed their jackets and left their room, hurriedly stepping out onto the long, dimly lit corridor. The were nothing but doors decorating the two walls, murky white with damp creeping through the dripping ceiling, and it made Hiccup feel little more than a number in a prison block. There was the familiar smell of mold and metal, and the familiar breeze of the vents several feet above them that prevented them from suffocating. Hiccup and Fishlegs could hear the hum of voices, the buzzing of electricity and water coming into close contact through the piping and wiring interchanging above them and the drip-drip-drip and clank-clank-clank of their own movements synchronized with the perpetual leak. The further they walked, the closer the voices got, and they could make out the laughs and chatter of people they knew; quite distinguishable was the Scottish drawl of Gobber, Hiccup's mentor. Due to his disability, Hiccup couldn't enlist in the heavy-duty physical work that most young men were given, shoveling rubble and extending the bunkers many tunnels and pathways, nor was he fit enough psychologically to join the nursing corps or the army that was being assembled in case of another attack, so he was confined to the medical unit for two long months, seen as a defect with no contribution. Gobber, by chance, spotted Hiccup's keen eye for detail in the drawings he made and took him on as an apprentice engineer. It was tough slog, and Gobber didn't go easy on him, but he found some comfort in the older man; he reminded him of his late mother, almost, optimistic and always with a kind word that was earned by hard work.

Hiccup and Fishlegs pushed opened the heavy-duty fire door that separated the corridor from the large mess hall, which was bustling with a life that Hiccup felt disconnected to. They went to queue at the canteen behind a young girl, who must have been no older than ten, with two auburn braids sticking up like horns on her head, her dress looking tattered and her boots losing the fur. Hiccup wondered if she had any family left and if somebody was looking after her; maybe she was part of the orphanage that had been set up next to the medical centre. Fishlegs worked alongside the carers there but he knew they were severely understaffed and the children ran about and caused havoc, and they were often left unclean and scruffy. The situation wasn't improved when it came to education. Although Sindri had devoted two large second-floor spaces as classrooms, they only had two qualified teachers, one of which was an English teacher from Berk High School and the other one being Mrs Antoinette Robbins, Hiccup's favourite teacher from primary school. It meant that education stopped at 13, and students were then thrown into the real world as apprentices in the services that were needed.

As the queue shortened the two friends spotted Snotface Snotlout, a nickname he had been given at school for his constant runny nose and bullying, aggressive nature. He didn't look particularity intimidating as a caterer, his brunette hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes cast downwards, miles away from his usually extroverted self. He acknowledged Hiccup and Fishlegs with a curt nod as he threw minuscule portions of watery porridge, tinned peaches, stale wheat biscuits and weak black coffee onto the tray, and the two went to sit with the twins that Hiccup had once got into trouble with before the bombing.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, or to their mother, Roseanne and Timothy, were fraternal twins who had gone off the rails after their grandparents and father had been killed in a car accident. Hiccup found a great deal of solace and comfort in them, even if they were very different people. Where Hiccup usually kept to himself and got into trouble with his snark and quick wit, Ruff and Tuff were loud and boisterous. Hiccup could also see, however, that the twins also had a great deal of intelligence and love in them; Ruffnut was especially engaged in taking care of animals she had found on the road and in their trips to the forest. He almost had a bit of a schoolboy crush on her at one point, allowing himself to play with her masses of blonde hair and hold onto her scrawny frame as they watched the stars together. They never talked about Hiccup's mother or Ruffnut's father; Hiccup had tried to ask but he had noticed the lights go from his friends eyes the minute the words escaped and he appreciated that it was too early.

The twins were participating in a frantic food-fight, keeping the up excitable façade. Hiccup was hardly surprised given the quality of what they had been given; he decided to guzzle the coffee instead, slyly pushing the tray to the twins direction with the intent of throwing a bowl of porridge at some sad-sack on the next table. Fishlegs shook his head as Tuffnut targeted the bowl towards a loud, obese lady who worked as a dressmaker, and the four stifled giggles as it hit its target, her clothes and hair covered in sticky gunk. Furiously, she turned to face the wayward teenagers who frantically attempted and failed to keep a low profile.

"Was that you, Timothy Thorston?" she grunted, shooting dirty looks at the blond who was given his best impersonation of innocence.

"Oh no ma'am, it wasn't us!", he pleaded, a cheesy grin plastering his face. The lady's face became redder and her teeth became somewhat clenched as she sighed in disbelief. Without warning, she picked up a glass on her table and threw it into the plastic table the teens were sat on, shielding their faces with their arms as the shards found themselves sticking into skin and hair. The lady stormed out of the door, slamming it behind her, and Hiccup and the others slowly and carefully shook off the glass and got up from their sets. Violence was frequent in Berk, with people being beaten up and assaulted for stealing food and resources. Hiccup knew that the people were reacting because they were scared, and he felt an urge to scold the twins for encouraging such a reaction, as amusing as it may have been for that short moment.

Hiccup said a hasty goodbye to the others and headed off towards the north wing, taking the three flights of stairs at the end of the slipshod corridor. He wanted to get down the smithy first; there was a large fire pit and a massive vent several metres high above it, and it was quite easily the most dangerous place in the bunker, if only for the contact of radiation from the skies above. Hiccup loved it because he could see the daylight, even though the cackles of firewood and thick smoke affected his ability to focus.

He got to work setting fire to the pit, waiting for Gobber to arrive, and began to sketch out some designs for some new accommodation on the second-floor. The task at hand was a grand suite for Sindri and his family, complete with a glamorously decorated bedroom, three bedrooms and a living space complete with central heating. Hiccup scowled at the demand. Sindri's family were well off before the bomb and apparently despite everything, it was destined to remain the case. Hiccup knew they had a daughter his age, Astrid, who with her shimmering blonde hair and athletic figure was very beautiful, but he had never had the chance to meet her, nevermind engage in conversation.

It became somewhat surprising in that moment, as Hiccup's mind passed over to the mysterious Astrid, that said girl came into the room with an axe.

"Hey, I wonder if you can help me?" she said politely, smiling. Hiccup noticed the fading freckles on her face and the gappy teeth, a reminder of pre-puberty and innocence.

"Sure. What's the problem?" he replied fondly, trying his best to disguise any hint of nervousness. She laid the heavy axe down onto the workbench, fingers prised to the chapped wood and eyes gesturing towards the chipped steel.

"It's my mothers. I managed to save it for her before the blast, but seeing as dad's throwing her birthday party later i'd like to have it serviced. I know it's a long-shot and you're busy but..."

Hiccup gave a small smile to the girl as she frantically said her piece and interrupted her.

"I'll do what I can. Come back at five." Astrid beamed and without warning gave Hiccup a quick hug. The boy stepped back slightly, surprised at the reaction.

"It's fine. You're Astrid, Astrid Hofferson, right?" he questioned cautiously. The girl nodded.

"Yeah, and i'm sorry for asking but who are you?" Hiccup tried to disguise his scowl and tell himself that there was no reason as to why the girl would know him. Instead he tried a weary smile.

"My name is Wyatt Haddock, but everybody calls me Hiccup. Strange name, I know. It's a long story." and the boy could feel his cheeks burning, praying that the girl wouldn't notice. She gave a curt nod before turning to leave the forge, but not before crossing her arms and giving a sceptical look at her new friend.

"Well I think it's kinda cute. I'll see you around Hiccup, and thanks again."

Left in the smoky forge alone with the heavy battleaxe in his hand, the boy became excited about the prospect of doing something interesting. He wasn't just making nails and roof timbers today; he was servicing a weapon; he knew Gobber loved stuff like this. But perhaps more dominantly, he was concerned about the need to impress. He wanted Astrid to love it. For she had left something of an impression on him.


	3. Through The Looking Glass

**Hello! I hope you all had a lovely Christmas! I totally watched Gift of the Night Fury much to my parents annoyance aha :).**

**Yeah, I struggled to write this chapter, and found myself decided to write feelings rather than actions as not a lot actually happens, but I think it came out...okay. **

**Thank you very much again for the reviews, and i'll get into the Hicstrid in more depth later, promise ;). I want to develop it naturally first though, i'm not really a fan of these stories where they're in bed within the third chapter. :P**

At around midday, Hiccup started to regret not eating his breakfast; his stomach was starting to rumble and groan unpleasantly. He had grown quite accustomed to ignoring it, as since the attack, food had been rationed accordingly, with a strict 1000-calories a day diet. However, he had been forcing the food down of late, quite literally. Whilst it was never going to be fresh or of good quality, the assortment of preserved and packaged food that lay in the preservation room was nutritious and kept them fundamentally alive, and he knew full well that he would have to savour every mouthful. But no matter how famished he felt, the nerves and the jitters in his stomach told him that eating was redundant; he could keep pumping on the adrenaline, the stupor each morning of finding himself alive but in living hell, clinging on to the scraps of hope he had left.

He thought about Astrid for sometime as he was tinkering with her mothers axe, aligning the metal and giving it a few swings every now and then to make sure it had feeling. He had never spoken to Ilma Hofferson, but he could see where her daughter had taken after her, at least aesthetically. Ilma was a tall, thin and foreboding woman, with long blonde ringlets that reached her knees when they were down, penetrating blue eyes, thick lashes, pink skin and cerise lips. Even though she was in her 40's, Hiccup had to admit that she was quite beautiful, and he remembered how his father, who was never particularly vocal, had eyes for her whenever they spoke in the supermarket where she worked. "She looks like she should be a famous actress!" he would cheerfully announce to his son after a shopping trip. He wondered about her heritage, and how Ilma's family came to possess such a stunning axe. It looked well over a hundred years old, a heavy, three-foot long tabarzin, with intricate carvings on the wooden handle; if he had to guess, Hiccup would've said it was Persian, but Ilma was Finnish so it must have changed hands several times.

Gobber had taken a quick look over what Hiccup was doing, chuckling at the gesture and muttering something about old times and keeping up with tradition despite everything that had happened. He took a very good look at the carvings and shook his head at the chinks in the metal, suggesting here and there what Hiccup should do with the axe to bring out the best in it. Although he was apprenticing in engineering the structures of the bunker, he dabbled in mechanics, electronics, woodwork and metalwork, the latter especially so as Gobber's father was a blacksmith who had taught his son what he had learnt in their forge located in a lonely cabin in the woodland.

"I was gonna give you a project, lad, but apparently someone is psychic. This axe shouldn't be too 'ard for you, just give it a sharpen and a polish and it'll be good as new" he'd told his apprentice with a big grin on his ageing face. Gobber was a stout little man with greying hair that was at one point a dirty blond. He had the most extravagant beard Hiccup had ever seen; it was like a long handlebar moustache that reached his chest, but the lengths had been elaborately plaited. There were no real facilities for cutting hair so men either cut it themselves which often meant disaster or let it grow out; Hiccup's own was fast approaching his shoulders and Ruffnut had taken to playing with it whenever they were alone, like how he used to do with hers.

Gobber had left to scavenge some lunch at around 11.30 and promptly found himself in conversation with an old friend, so Hiccup was left alone in the forge. Unlike the rest of the bunker, it was relatively cosy when the fire was lit in the small pit at the centre of the room, with the smoke escaping through a comparatively tight hole several metres above. The workbenches were a mix of mechanical steel that was bought down in the bunkers incarnation, and soft pinewood that Gobber had stored over time. When Berk's government decided to prepare for the attack, they had stored an assortment of wood, metal, glass and cement in the hope of a quick rebuild of the damage on land, but as the rebuild was postponed until much further notice, Gobber had used the resources and suggested that they improve the environment they were currently in instead.

Hiccup continued his work silently, enjoying the solitude and keeping to his thoughts. He thought back to life before the attack; he regretted telling his father that he hated him before running to school after another argument. A part of him knew that the pain they were feeling was shared, but he just couldn't talk to him about anything, and everytime he had tried to bring up his mother...well, the less said the better. Hiccup had never really hated his dad, though he often wondered whether the feeling was mutual. He wondered whether he'd ever have his own children, and maybe realise how hard things were.

Children don't seem to respond well to the more tragic events in life, he concluded sadly. Following his mothers death, Hiccup went from a happy and creative child to a reclusive, uncooperative mess. It hadn't helped that hormones were part of the formula, and how at the ripe old age of 14, other matters were beginning to concern him, like how he didn't really fit in with the rest of his peers so he resorted to being the class clown instead. He was constantly being thrown out of the classroom for insolence by his teachers and was close to being expelled on a few occasions for playing pranks and vandalising the building. He had attended a few anger management classes here and a few child psychologists and counsellors there, but there was no consistency and therefore no result, and Hiccup knew his dad was at his wits end. If he had gone back to school tomorrow, he decided he would sit quietly and listen to what his teachers had to say, because it was far more comfortable from his position now.

Hiccup's thoughts went out in a flash, however, when he heard gunfire. It was faint, on the land above, but it was there and he knew that it was dangerous. As quickly as he could, he put out the fire and stood still against the wall as he heard another shot. He thought he may have heard voices, but it was too far away to distinguish what they were saying, or even if they were speaking the same language. And then, he heard a blood-curdling cry; _an animals cry! _Checking that the fire had completely gone out, he balanced over the fire pit and started to shuffle up the small vent. The light of the sky was several feet above him but danger wasn't something that bothered him, although he realised that he was struggling to clamber up the brick-laden chute with his prosthetic foot, which had conveniently managed to loosen. Pausing, he took one last look up before he figured he would start coming down-if Gobber had seen him try to climb up a metre-wide hole he would've thought that the lad had gone mad.

As he looked up however, he saw something that horrified him; blood. Blood was coming down the holes of the vent, sticky and crimson against the brick walls, and Hiccup realised his hands were covered in it. He became suddenly aware of it dripping, and became vaguely aware of the metallic smell as he noticed that it was on his face and in his hair. This wasn't his own blood, he was sure. This was the blood of someone, or something, on land, and it was recent.

Scrambling down back into the pit, and cursing as he landed on the hot ashes, Hiccup ran from the forge and into the laundry room, where he saw Astrid and her mother cleaning clothes with steamed water. He didn't notice the horrified look that they both gave him as he threw off his shirt into the water-bath until Astrid put her hand on his shoulder, with a sense of panic.

"Hiccup, what happened? Are you hurt?" she asked the boy, who was just as confused as she was. Hiccup shrugged, shivering slightly at the cool air.

"I'll tell you later" he finally answered, acknowledging Ilma's presence. He knew that naturally she was suspecting something bad had happened, and she had silently concluded that he had probably had an accident with something sharp and was too embarrassed to say anything.

Astrid wasn't buying it though, as Hiccup had looked pretty shaken up, eyes to the floor as he silently wrung out his shirt. She didn't try and make conversation; instead she just watched the fumbling boy and paid attention to his freckled skin and how soft it all looked, a complete contrast to her rough skin that was currently battling a fresh batch of acne. She rolled up her sleeves even further up her bony elbows, the cuffs of her blue wool jumper getting caught up in the hot water. Astrid had decided a long time ago to stamp over her imperfections but she couldn't get over them completely. She cursed herself for ignoring Hiccup, although in fairness they hadn't actually attended the same school. He only knew him because she was a neighbour of the twins, and Hiccup had hung about with them and caused trouble around the neighbourhood. She had heard about his mothers death, and felt blessed that she had both parents, even if her father was a possessive pig.

Hiccup couldn't keep his mind off the life on earth. He was always told that they couldn't go back on land because they'd die of radiation poisoning; he had almost died of it himself, spending two months bedridden, shaking and vomiting and writhing as his hair dropped out and his nose permanently bled. But clearly, someone or something was there, living, or at least it was. He couldn't tell from the blood alone but he knew that if you lost enough you were essentially knocking on deaths door.

Silently retreating back to the forge, with still no sign of Gobber, he reset his fire-pit and got back to his work, making a pact to himself that he'd find out where the blood had come from, somehow.


	4. Phantom Limb

**Hello my lovelies! Happy 2014, the year of _How To Train Your Dragon 2_! (And series 3 of_ Sherlock_). :D**

**This chapter has a little bit of angst, a little bit of Hiccup & Fishlegs bromance and of course more Astrid. **

**Thank you again for all of the reviews and follows, in particular Foxy'sGirl who's feedback has been constructive and supportive. **

At around six, Hiccup had put the finishing touches to the axe, and he carefully lifted it over his shoulder and carried it back to his room. It was incredibly sturdy and heavy, the cold metal lying threateningly by his neck as he climbed up the stairs and snuck through the corridors. Being small and skinny, he was good at not attracting attention, and those he passed barely acknowledged him, too busy or in too much thought to really care. Once he had opened his door, the dampness hit him, and tutting at the mould that was creeping up the ceiling, he laid the weapon down onto his bed before shutting the door.

He was weary enough to have an early nights sleep; his hands stung with fresh cuts and burns and his arms and knees ached. He pulled off his clothes, soaked with sweat and still damp from when he'd hastily washed them earlier. Gobber luckily wasn't observant enough to notice the pale red stains on the grey jacket and trousers, but Hiccup knew he'd have to give them a good soak tonight. Shivering in just his underwear, he went through his bag and pulled out some more casual clothing; a baggy grey t-shirt, emerald green sweater, black skinny jeans, some tattered black trainers and a brown coat. They were the clothes he'd had on his back on the day of the attack, and he'd kept them since, as he didn't have a lot else. Despite how tired he felt, he had made a promise to Astrid that he'd see her tonight and tell her about what had happened. Hiccup didn't really know why he felt the urge to tell her, specifically, as he had never spoken to her before now, but there was something quite whimsical and fierce about her that attracted him. He wondered how he must've looked to her; probably weak and clumsy, he thought, shaking his head at the possibility of any relationship. Hiccup felt as though he needed a friend who hadn't held the same memories as him though; he had been through so much with Fishlegs, Snotlout and the twins, and maybe getting to know somebody who didn't remind him of the bad times would do some good.

After he had gotten changed, Hiccup shuffled over to the makeshift dressing table that he and Fishlegs had put together, with a mirror that had been cobbled with Gobber's help. It sat uncomfortably in the small corner between the bed and the door, but it served a purpose. Leaning over it, Hiccup groaned at his hair, which had grown to his shoulders, and decided to do some small plaits. There was something comforting about it; left strand over the middle strand over the right strand, rinse, repeat. He took a small chunk of hair, plaited it, and moved onto another chunk, until finally he had six small braids around his neck. They looked ridiculous, but they kept the unwanted hair out of the way. One of these days, he grumbled to himself, I'm going to get a knife and Fish can cut it all off for me.

Hiccup took a look at himself, and sighed when he realised that he hated what was staring back at him. Too pale, too thin, too ugly. He hated his buck teeth and boyish freckles and nose that seemed too big for his face, and quite unfortunately for him, he didn't even have the personality to go with it. And then there was the stump that was once his foot, aching whenever the prosthetic was removed and leaving an ugly, round stump in its place. He had spent so much time, especially around his peers, acting as though he didn't care and putting on a brave face, but in reality the disability had made him feel redundant; before the attack he was a good climber and fast on his feet, and now he was a clumsy mess who had to take baby steps and found it physically difficult to get from one place to the other. He rested his legs on Fishlegs bed, waiting for the pain to pass and debating whether to ask somebody at the medical unit to sneak him some painkillers. He found himself laid on his back and before long he had fallen asleep.

Fishlegs finished his work just after 7, and was bemused to find Hiccup fast asleep on his bed. Shaking his friend awake in the same fashion that he was woken himself that morning, Hiccup stirred and suddenly jumped up when he realised what had happened.

"I'm sorry, I was just resting my legs", Hiccup muttered, and Fishlegs laughed and rolled his eyes.

"You know, you can have the bottom bunk if your leg is still giving you trouble. You only have to ask!"

"Oh no, no, Fishlegs, it's fine, honest", Hiccup smiled to his friend, sitting himself up and reattaching the prosthetic, cursing as the stinging returned and leaning against the wall as he tried to stand. Fishlegs put his arms out to steady the boy, giving an expression of concern. He was not convinced that Hiccup was coping as well as he made out to be. Hiccup mouthed a small thank you as he managed to shimmy over to his bed and take the small climb up the bunk, keeping out of the way as Fishlegs got changed. As he leant down, he was careful not to sit on the axe.

"What did you get up to today, anyway?", Hiccup asked Fishlegs, finding himself bored of the silence.

"Some kids in the schoolroom escaped and me and Bucket had to go and round them up. One was in the laundry, fast asleep on some clothes, bless her."

Both boys let out a stifled laugh as Fishlegs swept his bangs back and adjusted his jeans. Hiccup slid down the ladder slightly, being careful not to appear too curious over something as mundane as getting changed.

"What about you? I saw Gobber wandering around so I thought you guys were taking a day off or something."

Hiccup moved to sit on his friends bed and shook his head.

"Nah, he went off for a "coffee break" and didn't come back for ages. I think he was hunting for trolls."

"Trolls, eh?" Fishlegs inquired, not catching on to Hiccup's sarcastic comment. There was a pause, before Hiccup got up, wincing slightly again at his leg, although it wasn't quite as painful now. He climbed his bed again and carefully picked up the axe and rested it over his shoulder. Fishlegs gasped at the weapon, putting his comb down at once and leaning in to get a better look.

"I was working on this today, Fishlegs", Hiccup smiled, feeling quite pleased about his handiwork. Fishlegs didn't look up; he was too focused on the carvings on the handle.

"Isn't this...this is Ilma's axe, right?"

Hiccup nodded, and his friend looked up and grinned.

"I can't believe that you got to fix this up. You do know what this party is for, right? It's for her birthday and i've heard that she's going to hand it down to her daughter..."

"Astrid?"

"Yeah. You know Astrid?". Fishlegs eyed his friend suspiciously. He had never spoken to the authoritarians daughter before; she had been educated privately and had a select few friends.

"She came in to ask me to fix it", Hiccup shrugged. He didn't want it to seem like a big deal, although deep down he knew that being spoken to by Astrid Hofferson was exactly that. He allowed his thoughts to linger over her scent, her blonde hair...

"Hiccup...that's amazing! And this means you have to come tonight!" Fishlegs beamed, clapping his hands.

"Okay, sure." the other boy said calmly, smiling back.

Throwing a party after the attack would seem entirely inappropriate, but most of the bunker were open to the idea of having something to celebrate, no matter how futile the celebration may be. The catering team had cobbled together celebratory food the best they could, serving up tinned fruit and custard and baked bread with preserves. They had even brewed ale in their spare time, and Sindri had invited them to start handing it out to the residents. The electronics team had established some makeshift speakers, tinny and weak and echoed in the mess hall, but in working order, and Sindri was planning on playing his old records that he and Ilma danced to when they were young and without responsibility. He had moved a record player into the bunker when they had first caught wind that an attack was a possibility; it was completely unnecessary, but he was not one to underestimate the power of music. The hall itself was unfortunately bare, and there wasn't a lot that could be done to improve it.

Hiccup and Fishlegs arrived relatively late; the mess hall was full, with every surviving man, women and child eating and drinking and chatting away excitedly at hearing music for the first time in months. Sindri was getting merry with Gobber and a few other men; he had had a few glasses of the homemade brew, and it was repugnant, but he felt that he had an obligation to support the efforts. He was dressed in a grey shirt and a pair of pinstripe trousers, with his thick graying hair tied back in a bobble at his neck. Next to him was Ilma, looking stunning with her hair in a long braid and wearing a long navy dress. Their daughter, however, was nowhere to be seen. Fishlegs took a seat at a table whilst Hiccup, carrying the heavy axe, went to look around for Astrid.

He left the mess hall and found himself on another corridor of accommodation, and as he turned to go back, he was startled by a familiar voice.

"Hey, you finished it!". Hiccup turned and saw Astrid walking towards him, presumably having just left her room. He took a step back, taking in how compelling she looked; her blonde hair was tied in a trademark dutch braid and she looked as though she was wearing makeup, as her eyes glistened in the flickering light above them. She looked pleased and excited to see the boy, who in turn was more than happy to pass the weapon over.

"It's...it's not perfect, but I sharpened it and polished the metal. I..I hope you like it...your mother likes it, I mean." Hiccup cursed himself at his stutter, although Astrid giggled, swinging the axe over her toned shoulders triumphantly.

"Well, thank you Hiccup. And now, I think you need to tell me about what happened earlier."

Hiccup's heart sank. He was trying not to think about earlier and wish he'd just been predictable and told Astrid he'd injured himself. She was eyeing him suspiciously as she watched him sweat a little. Hiccup cleared his throat before he started talking.

"I was working in the forge and I heard a gunshot."

"A gunshot!? But how..."

"Let me finish...I put the fire out and waited and I heard it again, only this time there was a scream...but it wasn't a human scream, it was like an animal. So I went to have a look up the vent and then...then I saw the blood. It was everywhere, Astrid, all down the wall and over my clothes." Hiccup finished with a deep breath and watched Astrid's brain tick, herself confused and trying to take in what she had just heard. Finally she looked straight into the boys eyes.

"If what you say is true, then that means there must be someone...or something up there." Hiccup nodded slowly.

"I know. Question is, who?". Hiccup gave the girl a nervous look, but Astrid returned it with a slight grin.

"You know what? I think we should find out. We should have a look around."

"No. No way." Hiccup said flatly. Astrid sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Come on, you can't say you're not curious. Besides, if we're only gone a few hours..."

"Who's going where?"

Both teens turned around suddenly at the strangers voice, and they breathed a sigh of relief when they saw it was Ruffnut leaning against the door, with an irritated expression. Hiccup gave her a wan smile which she returned.

"Hey Hiccup. Astrid. What are you two up to out here?". It was clear to Hiccup that her friend was annoyed by his absence, her arms folded and her jaw clenched.

"We were talking about something private." Astrid replied to the question surprisingly coldly. Ruffnut gave a look of surprise before resorting back to her usual sulk, and sensing animosity, Hiccup decided to intervene.

"It's nothing Ruff, i'll be with you guys in a sec, okay?". He smiled to his friend again, noticing that Ruffnut looked somewhat...lost. Her long braids were messier than usual and her make-up was smeared, as though she had been crying.

"Actually i'll come now. Astrid, we'll talk later." Hiccup corrected himself, and he started to walk out the door. Before he went to close it, Astrid tugged at his arm and he looked back at the girl.

"Seriously though. Let's go and explore."


	5. A Hand To Take Hold Of The Scene

**Hello! Sorry this chapter is a bit later than usual. I'm back at college (boo!) with a stack of assignments to do, and i've also been preparing for university interviews which are all very exciting! I'm writing this after mulling over one such assignment, during which I ended up watching _Sherlock_ and_ Red Dwarf_. I'm the worst student ever.**

**I've also been fixing my room, which now has bright yellow walls and my bed has_ Adventure Time_ bedsheets! Squee! **

**So i'm subconsciously aware that I need to pick up the pace and this chapter I *think* will be the last of the "description heavy underground going on's of Berk" and the next few will be more of a "Hicstrid goes on an adventure". This one is Astrid-centric.**

**As always, follows and reviews are greatly appreciated. Foxy'sGirl, interesting suggestion. I'm going to say no, but... **

Astrid couldn't sleep. She had tossed and turned, loosened her hair and then re-plaited it, moved her pillow into various locations and hid under her sheepskin blanket, to no avail. Settling down after a busy night of contemplation, she thought to herself irritably, was hard. So hard, in fact, that she gave up. At a time she supposed must have been the very early hours of the morning, she jumped from her bed, opened her steel makeshift wardrobe, pulled out her trademark blue sweater and left her room.

Her family lived differently from the workers of the bunker because of their status. Whilst most of her peers lived in damp, ramshackle rooms the size of cupboards, Sindri had allocated a four-roomed apartment for his family to live in which consisted of a bathroom, two bedrooms and a large living space with a small kitchen. Astrid thought it was selfish and unnecessary, but she honestly had never thought an attack would actually happen so it hadn't really eaten into her psyche. Now she was looking around the barely furnished room the family socialized in, a red moth-eaten sofa next to box after box of storage, mainly books, bills, identification and entertainment. A small lamp had been left on, and Astrid took a closer look at the items left out, one of which was a framed photograph that her parents always kept close. It was a picture of the three of them after Astrid had finished first in a regional gymnastics competition, taken when she was eleven. Her blonde hair was a lot shorter, barely reaching her shoulders even as it hung loosely, and she was tall for her age and somewhat toned. She was smiling triumphantly, glossy blue eyes filled with hope and promise, and her parents were semi-laughing, teeth bared and with a sense of pride in their stature. Astrid sighed. She was not that happy little girl anymore.

Leaving the apartment, she stepped barefooted onto the draughty concrete corridor, hearing nothing but the usual hum of the electrics. It was somewhat soothing to be so alone. She had pictured what the big cities would be like completely abandoned, the ones much larger than Berk, with streets that went on for miles and buildings almost reaching the sky, ugly grey designs contrasting with the much older, more beautiful architecture of generations before. Maybe this society will live into another generation, she contemplated, and maybe they'll integrate the nuclear age with whatever comes next. Humans do, after all, make the same mistakes over and over, each time threatening the desolation of mankind, each time mankind fighting back to see another day.

Astrid met the crossroads. Left was the one she took most days, towards the mess hall and where all of the people were. But she doubted the people would still be there, and the ones that were would probably be asleep after consuming the atrocity that the chefs had called beer in heavy doses. Astrid generally didn't feel comfortable in crowds anyway, although the confidence and self-worth instilled into her at an early age, being encouraged and coaxed into being the best, had taught her not to come across as anything other than assured and gregarious to everyone around her. There reached a point where everyone seemed to be very fake and blasé and struggling to keep up the act, she had become moody and insolent towards her parents, which hadn't gone down too well, least of all with her father.

Sindri Hofferson came across as polite, caring, cocksure and evasive when faced with those he was taking care of as mayor. In actuality, both Astrid and Ilma knew he was in the wrong job. Sindri had a temper and a tendency to take it out on those who were supposed to have been closest, and he was incredibly narcissistic. Astrid also knew him to be possessive; achievement, he told his daughter, is everything. Anything other than an A would reap punishment, whilst achievement would reap acceptance. It was what she wanted more than anything, and yet it was becoming harder and harder to talk to her father, never mind try and see his point of view. Her mother used to joke that they were two peas in a pod; after all, narcissism and a hot head came with the package for Astrid. It was their similarities that bothered her most.

With a deep breath, she took a right instead. Nobody ever went up this way. It was unlit, colder than usual and vertical, with steps leading them up. Upwards, she whispered silently. She walked continuously, wary of anybody or anything around her, but hearing only her own echoed footsteps. The passage became narrower, eventually becoming a steep, single staircase that had become surprisingly slippery. A layer of moisture covered each wall now, and looking towards her destination, she saw the large, dense concrete door ahead that would give her access to the outside world, to the town she used to call home. She knelt down after reaching the top step, relaxing after the flight up the stairs and pulling up her leggings, although she thought to herself consciously that it was unlikely anyone else was around. The door had a steel lock, and a sign:

"Radiation levels will kill. Do not pass or punishment will be unquestioning."

Astrid scoffed at the ominous signpost, knowing full well that her father had written it. She moved towards the entrance, and rested her head against it, hoping to hear a sign of life. The door may be two metres thick but she was taking the chance. Something about Hiccup's delivery of what had happened made her believe that he wasn't making it up, although he had a reputation of being devious and sneaky, at least when he was back on Berk. We still are on Berk, technically, she told herself, only underneath it. Only as she sat down did she realise that she was quite sleepy after her walk. She made a mental note for the next time she was restless. Although it was cold and a little breezy, being close to home was comforting. She was only a door away from getting out of the figurative prison that the people resided in. She also knew that they were all slowly dying; rations would eventually run out, as would medical supplies. They may as well sit tight and prepare for it. Or, they may as well take a chance and try their luck on land. She yawned, holding her idea close, as she fell into a light sleep.

Astrid groaned as her father switched on her light-switch, looking excited and ready for what was going to be a very long day.

"Wake up sweetie, we're going to the bunker!" he barked. Astrid glanced at the clock; 5.14am. She rolled her eyes as she sat up.

"Why are we going at this stupid hour?"

"Because we have places to be later and I wanted you to be the first to see, before your friends from school." Sindri smiled, and he hastily left the room. Astrid sat up blinking for a few moments, stirring only when she heard the kettle on and the chinking of her father making a coffee. This was odd, she thought to herself. It'd been a long time since they'd done anything father-daughter; usually their conversations ended up in heated arguments over trivial matters, such as Astrid bleaching her already golden hair into a platinum blonde and experimenting with dark make-up. At 14, this behaviour was quite normal, but to Sindri, it was an abomination.

After a quick shower, Astrid quickly patted her hair dry and plaited it as she got dressed into her school uniform. It was incredibly ugly, she thought, with it's burgundy blazer, sleeveless black jumper, white blouse and tartan skirt, finished with long white socks and polished black parade shoes. Her parents liked it though, commenting on how it was much more tasteful than the scruffy polo shirts and sweaters that the kids at Berk High called a uniform. On more than one occasion, she had asked for a transfer, and on every occasion, her parents refused to remove from the exclusive private day school she had the "privilege" to attend, so Astrid had stopped asking.

She crept downstairs, figuring that her mother was still asleep, and sat in their contemporary kitchen, sipping the cappuccino and chewing the bacon cob her father had made her. He's forgotten the sugar, god dammit, Astrid thought to herself as she struggled with the bitter taste. At around six, the duo got into the car and drove through town as the sun rose. It was much different than the usual urban mayhem of rush hour, with cars blocking every junction, children and their parents running over the pavements and businessmen opening their shops with cardboard cups of coffee from the local café in their hands. Said café was the only thing that seemed to be open as they drove, with the occasional person walking to work or walking their dogs in the dim light. She wondered what it must be like to be going to work at such an hour, telling herself that'd she'd never do such a thing no matter how well they paid her. Neither spoke as they drove, although once they got into town Sindri turned on the radio to catch the news on the political situation and to hear about any threats.

"We've got to be on our toes!" he would mutter to himself, and his daughter would nod, eyes fixated at what was outside.

They reached a hill just outside of the town centre, with a few cars parked haphazardly, along with the vans of construction workers who were currently engaged with plans. Sindri parked next to a van and got out, immediately asking for a look of the blueprint that the team were working on. Astrid got out afterwards, scowling at the chilly weather. Christmas was next week, she sighed, thinking about all of the family gatherings she would be required to attend. She couldn't share her fathers giddiness at the introduction of the shelter that was designed to house the entire town for up to six months. Why would anybody be happy after the threat of destruction? She suspected greatly that her fathers happiness was an act; after all, nuclear war was deemed as quite unsurvivable to most experts that frequented the television during news hour, and her fathers upstanding attitude was actually somewhat deceptive. If this bomb goes off, people are going to die. Of course, she reasoned, the bomb probably wouldn't go off. They had gotten into a debate in class and Astrid, being her strident self, had won, on the basis that surely nobody would be so stupid.

"This door is made from concrete and steel and is two metres thick! Nothing is going to get through this!" she overheard one of the engineers who was walking around with a mug of coffee in his hand tell his colleague. He was overweight, middle aged and had balding hair. Astrid wondered whether he had a wife, and children, and a house, and she realised that this shelter was a sense of security to the town, no matter how superficial it was.

"Astrid! Come on, love, let's go inside!"

The girl walked towards the entrance of the bunker quietly as her father pulled open the sturdy door. Looking down at the steps before them was like looking into oblivion.

Astrid woke with a start, and she quickly realised that she must have fallen asleep next to the exit, which was quite forbidden. She steadied herself against the wall and ran down the moist steps as quickly as she could, not caring if she was heard. She paced back to her apartment and opened the door to find her mother on the sofa in a nightgown with a herbal tea in her hand.

"Where have you been?" she asked stiffly, and Astrid thought about telling the truth but remembering that her father was in the next room.

"I just went to sit in the mess hall for a bit. Couldn't sleep."

Ilma grunted before looking up at her daughter.

"I saw you with that lad last night...Stoick's son huh...". A smirk crossed her face briefly as her daughter returned with a look of slight embarrassment and frustration.

"We were just talking, you know. He's had a pretty rough time."

"He looked a mess yesterday morning, all that blood. Although he did a marvellous job on the axe; only he could've finished it as lightly as he did so there's no point in denying it. But...I want you to have it." Ilma stood up and grabbed the axe, passing it over to her daughter who held it awkwardly over her elbows.

"I need to know that you can defend yourself. And maybe one day you will be able to pass it on to someone else." Astrid looked at her mother, gobsmacked. Why now? It wasn't her birthday, and Ilma hadn't died. But the glint in her mothers eye suggested that she knew something. Defend yourself? Why would she need to do that?

"Thank you..." Astrid gasped finally, heading towards her room. As her door swung open, she thought she heard her mother whispering "stay strong".


End file.
